


Vestigial Feelings

by Galadriel1010



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010
Summary: "I stood next to the bed for a while, thinking that I should say something but nothing came to mind. Checking first to make sure that no one was likely to see me I reached out and squeezed his hand—it was surprisingly warm. I thought I felt something, a vague sense of wet pine, wood smoke and canvas, but it was so faint I couldn’t tell whether it was vestigia or not." Rivers of London, Ben Aaronovitch.It was vestigia. This is why.
Relationships: David Mellenby/Thomas Nightingale
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Vestigial Feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



It was traditional for the sixth formers of Casterbrook School to return to the school at the end of the long summer vac ahead of the younger boys and spend the weekend camping in the woods, trading stories of their holiday adventures and conspiring together over their plans to keep the lower years in order for another term. The upper sixth guided the lower sixth deep into the forest, along paths worn in by generations of upper-school boys to the wide clearing among the pine trees where a ring of stone marked the campfire. There they set up the tents, gathered wood – the wetter the better for the purposes of showing off – and set traps and snares for game. Illicit bottles of brandy, whisky and cognac snuck in from fathers' and uncles' drinks cabinets were passed around with the names of those younger brothers or cousins who were joining the school and needed an eye keeping on them.

The war hadn't stopped the tradition, so the fact that it was, most unfairly, absolutely belting it down with rain and had been for days certainly wasn’t about to.

Thomas sprawled out on his side on his bedroll, peering out at the rain with a cigarette dangling half-forgotten from his fingers. Tubby and Copton, the head boy and his deputy, were still sitting by the fire with their camp table between them, glasses set out neatly with a fine Lalique ashtray for their cigars, but everyone else had retreated to shelter. The last of the light was draining from the landscape and the lush green of the forest was fading to greys and blacks, shadows from the fire dancing between the pines. He took a long drag from his cigarette and tapped the ash off onto the bare earth outside the tent flap. "I think that's it for the night," he observed. "Even Tubby is starting to look damp."

On the other bed, David was reading by werelight already and made a barely-interested noise. "It's just a matter of time, Nightingale. Has Coppers got a book?"

"Not a sign of one."

"Then they'll turn in soon. Anyone else turned in already?" Instead of waiting for an answer he set his book aside and squirmed around in the enclosed space until his shoulder pressed against Thomas's and their heads were close together, staring out into the rain. It got heavier even as they watched, and they were just able to make out a dark head retreating behind a flap of canvas. "Hello. Is that Pop and Digger gone for the night?"

Thomas shrugged comfortably. "Hard to tell in this rain. I didn't hear a thing from them, did you?"

"Not a word." David reached over and took the cigarette from his hand easily, took a drag from it and handed it back. "Oh cripes. You don't half smoke some rot, Nightingale."

"If you want better, you could always buy your own."

He laughed brightly, eyes sparkling in the soft glow of his werelight. "Stolen always has that peculiar delight, don't you find?"

Something as dark and sweet as molasses oozed through Thomas, not for the first time, and he looked away a little too quickly. Out by the fire he saw Tubby and Copton finally give up on the idea. They packed away their chairs and the table, and probably called out goodnights and admonishments to behave and not go wandering in the night. Any other year it would give them plausible deniability. Tonight, no one was going anywhere anyway. David shifted over to get a better view and rested his head on Thomas's shoulder with a sigh. "You know, when my father was in the sixth they had an Indian Summer. Not a drop of rain for months," he said idly, and his breath puffed against Thomas's cheek. "Perhaps if we strip off our clothes and dance naked around the fire, we can summon some of that up for ourselves."

He didn't swallow his tongue, but it was a close thing. He also didn't shrug David off, though. "You first," he said, trying not to make it obvious how appealing that image suddenly was. "Tell me if you get pine needles between your toes."

David laughed and fell to the side, onto his back. He reached out one hand to drop the tent flap right in Thomas's face and beamed back at his fond glare. "Shut the night out and jaw with me instead. I missed you this summer. Did you have ripping adventures with your uncle?"

"Hardly. Endless weeks with my mother."

"What a rot. You should have said, I would have come to rescue you." David rested his cheek on his hand and watched Thomas with sparkling blue eyes dancing with mirth. "My father was off at the Folly all summer. Tipper and I rattled around in the house on our own. Next summer you have to come to us. We'll tear up the town, London won't know what's hit her."

He smiled back, couldn't help himself. "Really? I wouldn't be in your way?"

"Oh pish! Getting to spend more time with you, the city at our feet and the summer stretched out ahead of us? How truly awful, how will I ever cope?" He sat up suddenly and dug through his bag for whatever bottle he'd managed to sneak out. "It was lousy this summer without you. Seems daft that we both spent our summer wishing we were together and not saying a word. Let's agree not to do that again."

Thomas watched him go through his bag, noting with confusion that he was going over it a lot more thoroughly than he should have needed to. "Never again," he agreed fervently.

"Do you mean that?" David asked. "Never ever?"

It stopped him in his tracks and he swallowed hard. "You sound like you have another of your hare-brained plans, Laws."

"Maybe I have. You've never complained about me dragging you into trouble before, though, so…"

And then he kissed Thomas and for a moment the world stopped.

His werelight, now the only illumination in the tent, flickered and faded. When he pulled back his expression was shadowed in the dim light, but his fear was still easy to see. Thomas couldn't understand it for a moment because surely… But no, of course not. He laughed softly and then dove on David to kiss him again before he could get more worried or, worse, upset. "Idiots, both of us," he told him. "What a wasted summer, both of us sitting on our hands and pining."

"Absolutely," David agreed. His grin was back in full force, and his werelight had followed it. He always was reactive like that. "Good job we're sharing a study this year. I'd have hated to have to turf someone out to get you to myself."

"I'm all yours." Thomas had found a rich vein of courage, which he thought was rooted firmly in four years of frustrated longing and raging teenage hormones. He managed to work a hand under Thomas's shirt to warm, bare skin and chased his lips again. "Banish your werelight."

David blinked at him. "What, why?"

"Because if it gets as bright as I think it will, they'll definitely know what we're up to in here."

"Oh!" David's eyes went wide and eager, his werelight flashed out, and his hands buried in Thomas's hair. The night closed in around them and cocooned them in a blanket of wet pine, wood smoke and canvas.


End file.
